


home sweet home

by erre



Series: NATURE BOYS [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Acting, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Cohabitation, Cultural Differences, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homesickness, Humor, K-entertainment industry, M/M, Romance, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn, Xu Ming Hao | The8-centric, and mingyu barking tf, cpop idol!minghao, inspired by kimi wa petto and wolf in the house, weredog!mingyu
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:40:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23755507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erre/pseuds/erre
Summary: Minghao takes pity on a stray dog and brings it home — only to wake up in the middle of the night to a man curled up at the foot of his bed.(Or:C-pop idol Minghao is stuck in South Korea filming a drama he’d never signed up for, and then Mingyu, quite literally, wanders into his life.)
Relationships: Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Series: NATURE BOYS [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712713
Comments: 22
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kimi wa Petto meets Wolf in the House, but make it gyuhao

“Cut!” Director Kang claps. “That’s good for now. Let’s break for lunch.”

Minghao almost sags in relief. Nearly five hours of nonstop shooting and he’s feeling hungry enough to devour someone. The worst part — he knows it’s his fault that everything took so long.

Even his co-star Sangmi’s usual cheer is gone, and she barely spares him a smile before heading straight for the huge table where, off set, the assistants and managers are rushing to arrange a takeout feast for the cast and crew.

Minghao mindlessly follows the smell of food. When Director Kang puts a hand on his shoulder, Minghao’s consciousness snaps back into his body, and he bows hastily.

“Myungho-ssi,” Kang says. She’s a short woman in her thirties, with a serious-looking face and thick rimmed glasses. “I wanted to ask — do you have a Korean language coach?”

Minghao swallows. “No, I don’t.”

They stop just out of hearing range of the lunch line. “Maybe speak to your manager about getting one. I know it’s been a while since you’ve lived in Korea and… well, it’s hard to understand you sometimes.”

Minghao nods stiffly, shame roiling inside him. He hasn’t felt this incompetent since he was sixteen and fell on a flip while performing on national TV. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel that hungry anymore. “I’ll make sure to ask.”

Satisfied, Kang pats him on the shoulder again. “You know we’re glad to have you right? I appreciate your hard work. Make sure you eat enough, too. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

  
When the day finally ends Minghao gets in the passenger seat of his manager’s car and stares silently out the window. As they drive out of Jongno-gu he’s hit with a pang of nostalgia at all the Korean signs flashing by. It still feels odd to be back after so long; maybe it’s because he’s been busy with the drama kicking off, but he can’t believe it’s already been two weeks since he moved into his temporary apartment. 

“What did Director Kang say?” Minseok asks, his soft voice cutting the silence. “You two were talking earlier.”

Minseok had been hired by Wenbo, Minghao’s long-term manager back in Shanghai, to help out during the shoot. So far Minseok’s been quiet and reliable, which Minghao is grateful for, especially since he feels tired all the time now. In fact, they’ve barely spoken to each other. The two things Minghao knows about Minseok are that 1) he’s older than he looks, and 2) he has experience managing artists in China, and can therefore understand some Mandarin. That was the reason why he got the job.

Minghao lifts his head off the headrest and shifts in his seat, turning down the fan on his side. He’s so used Shanghai humidity that it feels perpetually chilly in Seoul.

“The director said I should get a Korean language coach.” Minghao winds a loose thread on his hoodie around his finger. “To help with my speaking.”

“Ah, really?” Minseok makes a turn, careful to look both ways. He seems to process that for a moment. “Isn’t your character supposed to be from China? It makes sense for you to have an accent.”

Part of Minghao agrees — but the other part, the perfectionist, just feels plain bad. “I guess the viewers still have to understand what I say.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Minghao catches Minseok raising his eyebrows. “Okay. If it’s what the director wants, I’ll look into it.” He taps a finger on the wheel. “If it comes down to it, I can help you, though I don’t know if I can replace a coach.”

“Thank you,” Minghao says, hoping Minseok can sense how much he means it.

Minseok smiles, and it makes him look even younger. “Don’t mention it.”

The apartment they’d arranged for him is in a quiet residential area in Cheongdam that faces a small park and a cute little playground. It’s almost uncomfortably nice, considering that the last time Minghao lived in Korea he’d shared a bedroom with three other rowdy teenage boys.

After Minseok drops him off, Minghao showers, carefully dries his hair, and slips into bed, determined to get a good nights’ sleep.

Of course, by 2 a.m., he’s still frustratingly awake.

Eventually, he pulls on a sweater and socks, and wraps himself up in the huge throw blanket he’d brought from his apartment in Shanghai. In the kitchen cabinet, he discovers a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and tucks that under his arm as well, before venturing to the elevator.

The door to the rooftop lounge is unlocked when he tries it. Wooden chairs and tables meant for the warm weather are stacked and empty, the wind too brisk for a comfortable outing just yet. Minghao holds his breath when a gust hits him in the face, but he marvels at the view — the full moon is big and bright overhead in the black-blue sky, and small twinkling piece of Seoul is spread out before him. Something about how pretty it is makes him feel lighter inside, and he quickly flips a chair to settle into.

It won’t be too long before it gets frigid, so he pours himself just one glass, and queues up Deng Lijun on his phone. He sings along softly, the lyrics so familiar to him that he could recite them in his sleep.

 _Everything will be fine_ , he reminds himself. He just has to hang tight for five more months, and then he can get back to the things that really matter.

He’s certainly survived more difficult things — at least now, he has a nice view to keep him sane.

  
The next day, they’re shooting in the high school that their characters attend. Not even the heavy concealer the makeup artist had smeared under Minghao’s eyes can disguise how tired he is. He makes more mistakes than usual, and Director Kang’s patience is clearly wearing thin. She doesn’t single Minghao out, but she pointedly calls for a break mid-morning so everyone can get a chance to “refresh” themselves.

Minghao is mixing instant coffee at the impromptu snack station in one of the empty classrooms, when someone joins him.

“Hanging in there?”

He looks up. It’s Giyeol, his light brown hair tousled to main lead perfection. He’s a few years older and a bona fide actor, unlike Minghao. A bit nervous, Minghao takes a hesitant sip of his coffee — nasty but effective. “Sorry. I’m… I’m a little out of it.”

Giyeol opts for a bottle of water. “Don't be too hard on yourself,” he says. “I was a total mess when I got my first role.”

 _A mess. Right._ Minghao shakes his head, to clear it more than anything.

“Thanks. But it’s okay, I know I’m not very good.” He runs a finger along the lip of his cup. He’s definitely sleep deprived because what he says next is more than he intends to. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I’m doing.”

Giyeol hums contemplatively. “Well, I’m not surprised. It’s not easy being the second lead, especially for a newbie.” He flips his water bottle and catches it again. “Say, were you really on that show? That big idol survival show?”

Minghao’s hand stills and he picks up his cup, smiling awkwardly. “Yeah. A long time ago.”

“That’s impressive. It must be nice to go solo, huh?”

For a second Minghao thinks he’s joking, but one look tells him Giyeol is serious. “I don’t think it’s nicer,” Minghao replies measuredly. “Just different.”

Just then one of the makeup artists, the one who’d put the concealer on Minghao that morning, pops her head in. “Touch-ups in five,” she informs them.

“Thanks, noona,” Giyeol calls, and shoots Minghao a small grin on his way out. “Good luck — I’m rooting for you.”

Minghao nods, not quite a bow, and watches Giyeol chat with the makeup artist through the classroom window. He downs the rest of his coffee in one go and tries not to grimace when it goes down.

The shoot breaks early, so Minghao asks Minseok to drop him off outside a convenience store a few blocks away from the apartment.

Before he drives off, Minseok lowers the window on the passenger side and leans over the console. “Do you need any cash?”

Minghao smiles, a genuine one. “I’m okay.” He holds up his wallet and shakes it. “My card should work.”

“Okay. Call me if you need anything.”

Minghao waves and thanks him. He watches the SUV roll down the street before heading into the store. Wandering through the aisles, he grabs a healthy-looking bottle of organic juice and some noodles from the pre-prepared food section, taking his time just because he can. Thankfully, the card they’d set up for him works.

He savors the short walk back to the apartment. With spring on its way the sun is setting later in the day and the sky is still light at 5 p.m. He soaks it all in as his mind turns over the conversation with Giyeol and why it had left him unsettled.

It was probably what he said about going solo, Minghao decides. It’s one thing to be criticized for his own poor performance, but the survival show, it wasn’t just some competition. For many of the trainees there, Minghao included, all they had was each other.

Nevertheless, he’s eager to stop spiraling into a negative thought process over some meaningless comment, when a cat springs out of the bushes right in front of his apartment complex.

Flustered, Minghao backs up a few steps. The cat — black with white paws — gives him a considering look and then struts off, disappearing into the park.

Minghao eyes the bush the cat had sprung out of. There’s a small gap in the branches with leaves scattered over the ground around it, like that area been passed through several times. He’s wondering whether the cat has made a home for itself there, and then he catches sight of a tuft of something distinctly furry.

He crouches down to investigate, setting down the plastic bag with his dinner inside.

Whatever it is, is large, much larger than the litter of kittens Minghao had expected to find. He parts the leaves to see better. More fur, gray-black and white, a fluffy tail, and Minghao realizes he’s looking at a husky, sound asleep on top of what appears to be… a backpack.

Gingerly, he retracts his hands. The dog isn’t wearing a collar and Minghao doesn’t know where it came from, whether or not it’s aggressive. He should probably notify the security guard at the front desk before it wakes up.

But the backpack — it probably belongs to its human owner. More likely this is someone’s lost pet and they’re looking desperately for their dog right now. As a kid Minghao remembers playing with Xiao Fu, his grandparents’ little white dog, and how devastated he was when it ran away. He knows how much it sucks to lose a friend.

Just as he’s about to stand, the husky lets out a big yawn and swivels to stare right at him.

Minghao freezes.

“…Hey there,” he says in Mandarin, at a loss of what to do. His voice comes out higher than usual. “Had a good nap, huh?”

The thought, _Do Korean dogs understand Chinese?_ , crosses his mind and Minghao berates himself. The dog wouldn’t be able tell the difference, unless he got down on all fours and started barking.

“I’m going to get you some help, okay?” he relays in what he hopes is soothing, international human speak. “You be a good boy and stay right here. Okay?”

The dog tilts its head. Its eyes are big and brown and intelligent, and that keeps Minghao in place when it leans forward to sniff at his hands. He can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when it licks him once, twice.

When the husky starts crawling out of the bushes, Minghao panics. “No, no. Stay.” He switches to Korean. “Stay. Do you understand me?”

The dog gives him another look and Minghao can see the second it notices the bag with Minghao’s dinner in it.

“No!” Minghao manages to snatch the bag just in time and holds it out of reach. The husky — a male, he can see now — really is huge. He bursts of his hiding spot, scattering more leaves everywhere and dragging the backpack out of the dirt with him. Minghao braces himself for a pounce, but the dog only sits and pants at the plastic bag over his head, wagging his tail.

Minghao shakes the bag tentatively and the husky makes a noise, something between a whine and a _ruff_. 

Minghao frowns. “Are you hungry?”

Another noise. Minghao’s eyebrows shoot up. Definitely a Korean dog. “You can’t have this though.” He points to the bag. “This is mine. Human dinner. Understand?”

Minghao swears the dog droops in disappointment. All this sleep deprivation has really been getting to him. He glances around before talking to the dog again. “Will you be a good boy if I buy you food?”

The husky immediately springs into action. Gripping the backpack in his mouth, he drags it towards the street, stopping and looking back at Minghao as if he wants him to follow.

Minghao sighs, running a hand through his hair. Food it is.

At the same convenience store as before, he manages to snag a box of blueberries and one of those vacuum sealed lean chicken breasts that athletes eat with barely any seasoning. While he’s waiting for his card to go through, he can see the husky waiting patiently for him outside with the dirty backpack. Minghao had attempted to take the bag from him earlier, but the dog had refused to part with it. He’s pretty sure at this point that it belongs to the owner.

The husky drags the backpack all the way to the entrance of the apartment and sits there, waiting for Minghao to open it.

“You’re a weird dog, you know that?” Minghao tells him, scanning his key card. The dog doesn’t seem offended by it. He lets Minghao push open the door, brushing against his legs on its way into the lobby and leaving behind some very obvious stains on Minghao’s white pants. Minghao sighs as it pads right past the front desk to the elevators.

 _Fine_ , Minghao thinks.

He ventures toward the front desk. “Excuse me?”

The security guard looks up from his computer monitor and stands, straightening his hat. “How can I help you, sir?”

The formality makes Minghao feel awkward, but brushes past it. The guard’s just doing his job. “Hello,” he starts softly, “I found a dog outside the building and I think he’s waiting for his owner. Do you know who it might belong to?”

The security guard leans over the desk to peer down the hall, and even pulls out his cell phone to snap a photo. “I haven’t seen that dog before, but I can make some calls to local shelters and email the residents just in case.”

“Thank you so much.” Minghao hastily scribbles his number on the pad of paper on the desk. “If the owner calls, please give them my contact info. He’ll be with me.”

“Are you sure? You can leave him here.” The guard glances at his watch. “My shift ends in a few hours, so I’ll take him to a shelter if the owner doesn’t show up.”

Minghao hums, stifling a smile when the husky yelps at him to hurry up, tail sweeping the carpet. “That’s okay. I could use the company.”

When they finally get upstairs though, it hits Minghao that his new friend probably needs a bath — and badly. With no canine products on hand, all he can do is spray him down thoroughly in the (thankfully spacious) shower.

Afterwards the husky shakes himself dry and Minghao falls flat on his butt trying to avoid it. He starts laughing at his luck, but has to force himself to sober up when the dog starts whining along with him. By the time they’re finally done, he’s pretty much drenched.

Minghao changes and tosses his wet clothes into the laundry basket. The backpack had been left beside it during the bath, but now it’s gone — and upon entering the living room he spots the husky sitting on top of it, staring expectantly at Minghao.

There goes Minghao’s idea to check inside for a clue about the owner.

Putting aside that plan for now, Minghao puts the food for the dog into a bowl and eats his own dinner on the kitchen island, too comfortable now that he’s in his sweats. It’s like all the exhaustion he’d accumulated from the past week of tossing and turning and staying up late to practice his lines hits him all at once. Once he’s full, he barely remembers to brush his teeth.

He usually can’t stand touching his bed without showering, but today his eyes slip closed the moment he makes contact with his pillow. Distantly, he’s cognizant of the husky padding curiously over to his bedside, but before he can even say “good boy,” Minghao is blissfully asleep.

He rolls over in the middle of the night, loose-limbed and comfortable, and the first thing he notices is that he can’t move his legs.

Even half awake, that thought gets the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He’s thinking desperately, _I need those, I need those_ , and then he’s awake in mere seconds, jerking upright.

All he sees is skin at first — warm and smooth, stretching across the foot of his bed.

There seems to be an endless expanse of it and only then does Minghao register the _man_ , full grown and buck naked, his legs resting over Minghao’s calves, his back broad and curved, one bent arm supporting a mop of pitch black hair. With the moonlight lighting his silhouette, the word _angel_ crosses Minghao’s mind, but it’s only the last of his subconscious talking, because conscious Minghao promptly falls off the bed in his haste to get away.

He groans, hissing when sensation starts to return to his feet in sharp pricks. “ _Fuck_ —” He struggles to grab his phone from his bedside table, and while he’s at it, picks up the heavy, vintage alarm clock he’d bought in Hangzhou after his first concert there.

At the noise, the man stirs, breathing in like he’s rousing from a deep sleep. He pushes himself up and looks around him blearily before he spots Minghao, wielding the alarm clock like a weapon, thumb hovering over dial for 112.

The stranger’s eyes widen, big and brown.

“Oh, shit,” he says hoarsely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 📸 [the doggo](https://pm1.narvii.com/7463/d0be83a737e2211082337c7edcafb1be0b16c1aer1-1080-1350v2_00.jpg)
> 
> this'll be a part of a series but i'm still trying to name it... i'm excited for this!!! planning to update every 2 wks. please pray for me now that I have 2 ongoing fics :-) 
> 
> _**coming soon:** soundtrack on [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/l16qqdkw6nj2i8tdm9ntnug85?si=ih5nSUFUSLu8c5fSYe6sAg)_ ✨
> 
> @erreversible on [twitter](https://twitter.com/erreversible?lang=en) | [tumblr](https://erreversible.tumblr.com/) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/erreversible)


	2. Chapter 2

“One move and I’m calling the police,” Minghao warns, surprising himself with how steady he sounds. In the back of his mind he hears Wenbo warning him to never ever alert the media or the police if he can avoid it. They’d had that conversation after Minghao returned home one night and discovered an envelope with a lock of hair inside, waiting right there on his doorstep.

Minghao grips his phone a bit tighter. He can’t get the media involved, not after what happened in Shanghai. Realistically, he’ll have to call Minseok… but what if this guy’s dangerous? He quickly catalogues possible escape routes.

“W-Wait.” The man stumbles to his feet and Minghao inhales. “This is a misunderstand— _augh!_ ”

The alarm clock is flying out through the air before Minghao even registers he’d thrown it. Luckily, it’s so heavy that it only bounces once off the bed before dropping like a stone on the thick rug.

Intruder — as Minghao has decided to refer to him — uncurls from his defensive crouch on the floor and stares at the projectile, horrified. “Was that for my head?”

Minghao exhales, long and slow. The adrenaline is making him way too skittish. He can finally move his legs though, so he stands and, after a moment of deliberation, grabs the heavy bedside lamp. He shakes it menacingly, and regrets it right away when some undiscovered muscle in his arm twinges. “Who the hell are you? A stalker? A pervert?”

Intruder raises his hands. “Whoa! I know what this looks like, but I’m not… I can’t explain it to you, but you just have to trust me, okay? Please? If you let me go you won’t ever see me again, I promise.”

“Tell me how you got in,” Minghao demands evenly.

Intruder presses his lips together. They’re pale, and he seems just as shaken as Minghao. “I can’t.”

Minghao raises his eyebrows.

“I can’t! You won’t believe me.”

“Try me.”

Intruder huffs, dropping his head into his hands. It takes him forever to speak again. “You let me in,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“I’m not a stalker.” He glances at Minghao and away again. “You let me in.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” Almost inaudibly, he adds, “You gave me a bath and fed me... I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Ever so slowly, Minghao lowers the lamp. “I what? Gave you what?”

Intruder sets one hand on the mattress, fingers curled, like a paw. “Woof,” he says rather sarcastically. “Get it?”

Minghao is speechless. He kind of wishes the clock hadn’t missed its target.

“I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”

“What, that you’re a _dog_?” Minghao can hear his own voice getting higher and higher.  
  
“Yes and no.” Intruder pauses, his lips pressed tight again. He whispers something that sounds suspiciously like _sorry mom_ before he explains, not very helpfully, “I change, day and night.”

“This is crazy,” Minghao mutters, but he suddenly can’t shake the feeling that he’s heard something familiar long ago; he’s eight years old and drifting off to sleep on a summer night in Anshan while his grandmother fans herself and recounts a myth about beasts transforming into humans at night. It’s so vivid of a memory that he’s almost sure he’s imagining it.

Maybe that’s what prompts him to say, “Prove it.”

“Wait,” Intruder perks up, “you believe me?”

“No. So prove it.”

Moonlight glints off Intruder’s eyes and for a second he really does seem not quite human. “Can you swear that you won’t call the police? You can’t tell anyone about me. Please.”

Minghao lifts his chin. “We’ll see.”

Minghao is waiting for sunrise at 5 a.m., his back pressed uncomfortably against the side of the bed to stay awake, flicking the lamp on and off where it’s sitting on the floor beside him.

The apartment is laid out like one of those modern, open concept spaces — the kitchen leads right into the living room which then leads into the bedroom, no walls or doors in between, the bathroom solely separate. Above the bed is a slanted ceiling fitted with a window that lets natural light in, which had given Minghao a great view of who exactly had been sleeping on his feet.

All this means Minghao can keep a careful watch on Intruder, who’s claimed a spot on the couch a few meters away. He’s chewing the hell out of his nails, his knees to his chest, hugging the dirty backpack the dog had dragged in. Earlier he had nonchalantly unzipped the backpack, pulled out a black T-shirt and sweatpants and gotten dressed, which Minghao admits is a little _too_ much of a coincidence.

It’s surprising how someone so large can make himself look so small. Minghao can’t help frowning as Intruder nibbles through his left hand and starts on his right. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

It takes him a moment to respond. “What?”

“Your fingers,” Minghao points out softly.

“Oh.” Sheepishly, he pulls them out of his mouth. “Sorry.”

Minghao wants to laugh. He can already imagine the headlines: _Xu Minghao Murdered by Apologetic Werewolf_. Admittedly, it’d be one of the better ones. “You don’t have to apologize for that.”

“Oh,” Intruder says again. He sniffs, wrapping his arms around his legs. “You can sleep, if you want. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

“No way.” Minghao shivers a little. He’s about to say he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anyway, but that’s not quite true — part of him wants so badly to just curl up on the fluffy rug he’s sitting on and pass out.

“Thanks by the way,” Intruder goes on, rough and airy, “for being nice to me.”

“I threw a clock at you,” Minghao reminds him.

“You did. I just mean you took me in yesterday when you didn’t have to.” The furrow in his brow grows deeper. “And I really hope you don’t tell anyone about me, but I’d understand if you—”

“I get it,” Minghao cuts in, staring into the hole of the lampshade. He never knew light bulbs can get so dusty.

“Also, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hm.”

“Really. During the day I can get carried away sometimes.” Without his nails to distract his mouth, words keep spilling out — and _fast_. “I didn’t expect it’d get so lonely, but it’s my instinct to want to be near people I guess. And when you found me I was just glad to get some free food, but then it was kind of fun and I just couldn’t help it and you were so—”

He stops himself and Minghao narrows his eyes.

“—nice,” Intruder finishes, like he just took his foot off the gas pedal. “So, thanks.”

In less than an hour, Minghao realizes, he’ll probably have to call Minseok to get this delusional, very human intruder removed from his apartment, and they’ll never see each other again. Which means Minghao has nothing to lose. “You being a dog or whatever,” he says, trying to imbue his tone with nonchalance, “how is that even possible?”

“I don’t really know,” is the answer.

Minghao scoffs. What was he expecting?

“I don't. It’s just reality to me. Like… like being you is your reality.”

“Fine. Are there others like you?”

Intruder shakes his head, but it’s not in response to the question. “I’ve already told you more than I should.”

“I don’t get it. If you’re so worried I’ll tell other people, why tell me at all?”

“I feel like I can trust you.” He meets Minghao’s eyes, probing. “Can I?”

Minghao looks away first. “That depends on you.”

The guy sighs. “You’re right. It’s better not to trust so easily.”

A moment of quiet passes. Minghao spins his cell phone in his palm. “What were you doing in the bushes outside?”

“Sleeping.”

“Why were you sleeping there?”

“Why are you sleeping here?” He shoots back sulkily. Minghao gives him a look. “Fine. The bush is temporary. I moved out from my parent’s house and there’s no way I’m moving back after two weeks. Things just haven’t been going exactly to plan.”

“Wait, how old are you?” Minghao had estimated mid-twenties.

“Twenty-two. You?”

“Me too,” Minghao says, surprised. “You’ve never lived on your own before?” He realizes how his question sounds right after he asks it. Life must be very different if this guy really is a dog during the day.

“My family’s a little… protective.” He picks at the skin around his nails. “Anyway. That’s enough questions about me.”

“I have more questions though.”

“This is unfair. I’m telling you my life story, but I know nothing about you.”

“ _You_ showed up in _my_ house. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Technically, _you_ invited me in.” Intruder puts up a hand. “But that’s not the point. When you ask me questions, I can’t stop answering, so stop asking me.”

Minghao puts his phone down with a little more force than necessary. “Fine.”

He turns the lamp on and off and on again, his head falling back against his mattress. He realizes he can see the shadow of his hand play across the ceiling when he moves it over the hole at the top. Bored, he starts drawing random shapes, lines, numbers, trying to get the angle right. He cycles through the Korean alphabet, glancing every so often at the sofa to make sure Intruder hasn’t moved.

At one point Minghao catches him watching the shadows on the ceiling. After some deliberation, Minghao slowly writes out two characters.

When he looks back at the sofa, the guy’s looking at him, eyes wide.

Minghao clears his throat. “My name.”

“Can you write it one more time?”

Minghao focusing on making the strokes neat and clear this time, pausing between each character. Finally unfolding from his fetal position, the guy leans forward to read, setting his precious backpack aside.

“Myung… ho? Myungho? Did I get that right?”

Amused by his enthusiasm, Minghao nods. “It’s one of my names. It’s safe to give you this much.”

The guy lets out an impressed _oh,_ crossing his arms over his chest. “Nice. Very mysterious. My grandpa says names have power though, like everyone’s name represents you or a part of you. I guess I have one of you now.” He smirks boyishly, and Minghao notices his pointy canines. Minghao wonders whether it has anything to do with the whole ‘being a dog’ thing or if it’s unrelated.

The next question interrupts Minghao’s train of thought. “So how many other names do you have?”

Minghao shakes his head. “Already told you too much.”

“Okay. I’ll take it.” The guy leans back. “Just a little longer until sunrise.”

Minghao doesn’t ask how he knows. As time passes, he seems to tune out Minghao completely, focus drawn to the windows across from the sofa. When the sky warms and lightens after what feels like eternity, he rises to his feet and Minghao jolts, grabbing the lamp. He’s watching the guy so closely that he catches the small smile on his face and the slow closing of his eyes when sunrise hits. He turns to Minghao one last time, his skin rippling. “Mingyu,” he says, a bit shyly. “My name.”

The change itself happens so fast that it takes Minghao a moment to realize the black T-shirt and sweatpants are in a heap on the floor, and then a familiar husky is shaking them off.

They consider each other. When Minghao starts breathing again, he lets go of the lamp and flips one of his hands, palm up.

The dog trots over and nuzzles into it, looking up at Minghao as if for permission.

He ruffles the husky’s big head. “Don’t look at me like that.” The husky yips and Minghao smiles. Logically, he knows somewhere beneath all this fur there’s a human consciousness, but that fact is relatively easy to ignore. He spent all night so tense that the relief — even in the face of literal magic — is almost overwhelming.

The dog lies down, and Minghao keeps petting him absently.

 _Why did you tell me your name?_ He thinks at him, reluctant to ask out loud. He turns the name over in his head. _Mingyu, Mingyu, Mingyu_. It feels like he’s been entrusted with something rare.

Minghao jumps when his phone alarm rings, letting him know that in an hour or so he’ll be due back on set. He sighs. What now? He doesn’t have to call the police anymore, but he can’t let Mingyu stay in his apartment.

 _He’s just a dog right now_ , whispers the part of him that had let the dog stay in the first place. _Are you going to leave a poor defenseless creature to fend for himself?_

“Can I call someone over?” The husky jumps up, ears flattening, and Minghao rubs his side soothingly. “I promise I won’t tell him anything about you, but he can help. I promise. Okay?” He offers his hand.

Mingyu debates for awhile. At last, he gives Minghao his paw, and they shake on it.

At 6:30 sharp, Minseok shows up at the door with a bag full of miscellaneous dog supplies. Instead of letting him in, Minghao steps outside and closes the front door behind him. He’d gotten dressed in the meantime and attempted to make his hair lie flat on his head. 

“I almost don't want to ask.” Minseok hands the bag over. “But do I need to?”

Minghao shakes his head. “Thank you. I’ll explain in the car.”

They’re running tight on time, so Minseok heads downstairs to bring the car up front while Minghao slips inside again. Mingyu follows him around as he fills a bowl with water, and pours some dry dog food in another.

A thought strikes him. “Do you eat this? I don’t even know what you eat.”

The husky gives the dog food a prim sniff before tasting some. It doesn’t seem to offend him but he does cock his head at Minghao in a silent question.

“I don’t know.” _You said you were lonely_ , Minghao thinks. “Just for today. I have to go to work so I’ll ask my… friend to watch you.”

Mingyu just laps at the water bowl. At the door, Minghao turns back. “You’ll be good?”

 _Ruff_ , Mingyu says. Minghao supposes he’ll find out.

“You want me to go back to your apartment and babysit the lost dog you picked up?”

“Yes.” He tries to relax; asking for help really shouldn't be this hard. “Just until seven, please. I’ll pay you back.”

They’re sitting in the car in the cast and crew parking lot, Minseok having narrowly avoided the morning traffic jam by using side streets and local roads.

“I don’t really mind,” Minseok rubs his neck, “but will you be alright on your own?”

“I’ll be fine,” Minghao assures him. He tries for humor. “It’ll help me learn Korean faster, right?”

Minseok doesn’t laugh. “Alright. I’m only agreeing because nothing special is scheduled for today.” He inhales through his teeth. “Until seven, you said? The shoot probably won’t end that early though.”

“Oh. The dog gets a little, you know, nervous? Around people at night? So you can leave him alone then.”

“At seven,” Minseok repeats, typing it out on his phone.

“Yes.” Minghao bites his lip. “Thank you, really. I don’t mean to bother you, but I don’t know who else to ask…” 

Minseok waves him off good-naturedly. “It’s fine, I know that better than anyone. Do I need to take the dog for a walk or anything?”

“Oh! Um, you can just ask him.”

“…Ask the dog?”

Minghao smiles awkwardly. “He’s very smart. I think his real owner,” he struggles to find the word, “taught him well?”

“Trained him?” Minseok suggests.

Minghao nods. “Yeah. Trained him well. He’ll let you know what he needs.”

“Okay then. Make sure to let me know what you need, too.” Minseok holds up his phone. “Call me if something comes up, okay?”

“I will.”

Once he’s alone in the parking lot, Minghao takes a moment to steel himself. He presses a hand to his chest and takes a few deep breaths, remembering the morning yoga sessions his mom would to rope him into whenever he visited home. _Positive thoughts_ , she’d tell him again and again.

“You can do this,” he murmurs, patting himself.

Feeling silly but slightly better than before, he makes a mental note to call his mom on the weekend.

They’re mid-way through the pre-production for the first three episodes, and Minghao notices the way everyone is picking up the pace, as if they’re subconsciously preparing for the breakneck live-shoot schedule. In thirty minutes he’s in and out of hair and makeup and on set in his high school uniform.

One of the scriptwriters, Haerin if Minghao remembers correctly, approaches him while he’s waiting for the classroom to get set up.

“Is your manager here today?”

“Ah, no. He had some,” Minghao wracks his brain, “important business to take care of.”

“I see,” Haerin says, sounding disappointed. She rifles through the thick stack of paper in her hands, likely a draft of the next episode.

“You can tell me instead,” Minghao offers. She looks up at him. “I’m my own manager today.”

She smiles politely, but also shoots a glance at Director Kang, who’s chatting with the Creative Director down the hall. Haerin seems to hesitate. “That’s okay. I don’t want to put you on the spot."

Minghao tugs on the sleeve of his blazer. “It’s fine. I’ll hear it anyway.”

She seems to doubt that, but the urgency of whatever she’d wanted to ask starts to sway her. Minghao knows that in addition to airing on TV, the drama’s going to be available on an international streaming platform, and the writers are feeling the pressure. “I was going to ask,” Haerin begins stiffly, “have you, or I mean, your manager, found a Korean language coach yet?”

Minghao manages to keep the embarrassment at bay this time. He straightens. “Not yet. We’re still looking.”

“Do you think you’ll have one before we start the live-shoot?”

“Uh, sure,” Minghao says. Haerin must see the confusion on his face, because she rushes to clarify.

“That’s great! It’s just that there are a few important scenes with your character in episode four, and we were just wondering what lines would work best. If you could let your manager know…”

She looks so out of her comfort zone that he makes an effort to sound bright when he says, “Of course. I will.”

“Great, thanks!”

Minghao watches her disappear into the crowd and accidentally meets Director Kang’s eye. He bows, but isn’t sure whether she sees it.

No one else asks for Minseok for the rest of the day. They spend a good part of the morning re-shooting some scenes for the first and second episodes, polishing the pilot, and in the afternoon they jump into the third, where Minghao’s character meets Giyeol’s character for the first time by bumping into him in the hallway.

“That was a bit awkward, Myungho,” Director Kang instructs. “Be more distant. Give him a cold look when he bumps into you, like you think you’re better than him.” Minghao nods. “One more time, but let’s fix the lighting a bit. It’s a bit too bright over there.”

Across from him, Giyeol stretches, cracking a few joints in the process. “Man, I’m getting old.” They’d spent most of the day standing around and even Minghao’s legs were getting sore.

“You’re not old,” Minghao protests.

“Easy for you to say.” Giyeol rolls his shoulders. He studies Minghao. “By the way… Did I offend you yesterday?”

“No?” Their last conversation comes back to Minghao incredibly slowly. It feels like it happened ages ago, and it hits Minghao that he’d barely gotten any sleep. What if he had hallucinated the whole thing, and actually spent all night talking to a dog?

Giyeol distracts him from that terrifying thought. “Really? You can be honest. People say I can be insensitive. It’s what the girlfriend tells me anyway,” he chuckles.

Minghao shakes his head. “It’s okay. I wasn’t offended.”

“Okay, great. You should lighten up, you know? It’s hard to tell with you.”

“Sorry,” he laughs awkwardly. “I can’t really tell.”

“See, that’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh! Don’t tell me girls actually fall for that kind of thing.”

Minghao shrugs, the lingering smile feeling unnatural on his face. When did smiling feel so odd? Maybe he really has been a downer. “I don’t really know.”

“That’s what they all say,” Giyeol murmurs, but he’s distracted by whatever’s going on behind Minghao and Kang gets their attention for take two.

Around 7 p.m. they get a five-minute break before the last scene, and Minghao checks his phone to find a WeChat message from Wenbo asking him to call him when he’s free. When he’s finally done for the day, Minghao climbs into Minseok’s car, so preoccupied with the message that he almost forgets to ask Minseok how it went.

Minseok broaches the subject first. “You weren’t kidding when you said that dog gets anxious at night.”

“Did something happen?” Minghao tenses. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, nothing that bad,” Minseok says, easing out of the parking lot. “He started making a lot of noise when it got late. I was afraid the neighbors would complain.”

“I’m sorry,” Minghao sighs. “I shouldn’t have made you do this. Let me pay you back.”

Minseok smiles. “I didn’t say it was all stressful. He was kind of shy during the day. I did ask him whether he wanted to go on a walk and he agreed... I think.”

“You really asked him?”

“He’s definitely smart.” Minseok seems slightly disturbed by that fact. “I didn’t mind watching him, but just so you know, I can help you hire a real caretaker. There are companies who do this specifically for celebrities.”

“No, that’s fine,” Minghao says a little too quickly. “I’ll take care of everything. Thank you for today.” _I won’t let it affect my work_ , he wants to add, but he’s not sure how to word it and the moment passes.

“Okay,” Minseok agrees. He’s definitely too nice for his own good. “Just let me know if I can help.”

After Minseok drops him off, Minghao walks to the small park across the street and calls Wenbo. He picks up on the fourth ring.

“Minghao,” he says, always cut-to-the-chase. His Shanghai accent is as strong as ever: “Done this early?”

“Early? Maybe where you are,” Minghao quips. Using Mandarin after a day of Korean feels like a drink of fresh water, and he finds a wooden bench to sit on, exhausted from standing for hours. “How have you been?”

“The same as usual — the boss is breathing down our necks. We’re here to talk about you though. How’s filming?”

Minghao licks his lips and cringes at how dry they are. “I’m getting used to it. Minseok is nice.”

“It’s great that he’s nice, but is he any good at his job?”

Minghao rolls his eyes, knowing Wenbo can’t see it. “He’s been a huge help. I thought you said you hired him because you knew he was good?”

“Well, you can never be sure. Good to know my instinct wasn’t off about that guy.” Minghao hears a door open on Wenbo’s end and guesses he probably just finished his morning coffee run. Wenbo sneezes, confirming Minghao’s theory. “Anyway, do your best. If you hear people say you’re selling out in Korea or whatever, don’t listen to them. Remember, we have our strategy.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” Minghao mutters.

“Did I just hear you talk back to me? Be glad I’m being paid to ignore that.” There’s some more scuffling noises and then Wenbo lowers his voice. “We’re looking at long-term impact, okay? People will watch these dramas on the internet whether or not they’re being aired here and it’s going to help you—”

“Ge,” Minghao interrupts, staring at the ground and the line of ants marching past his sneakers, “you don’t have to say all this. Just be honest. How bad is it?”

Wenbo is eerily quiet for a moment. Then he scoffs. “You’re worried about that? Those stupid rumors blew over in a week.”

Minghao’s fingers tighten around the edge of the bench. “Come on, I have access to the internet.”

“I’ve known you since you were a teenager, Minghao. You asked me about it because you haven’t been reading the articles.” Wenbo’s voice is gentler than usual, and that’s somehow worse. Minghao presses his hand over his eyes. “If I tell you not to worry about it, then don’t worry about it. Just focus on the drama.”

“It’s hard, ge,” is all Minghao can say. “I miss performing.”

“It’s just five months. It’ll be over in no time.”

And that’s what Minghao’s been telling himself for weeks, but today, it does little to comfort him.

After a few loops around the park to clear his head, Minghao heads inside. He almost apologizes for walking into the wrong apartment when he opens the door. The lights are all on and the warm smell of fried rice washes over him. Only when Mingyu jumps up from the couch, does everything click into place.

Minghao shouldn’t feel this relieved, but at this point he’s just glad that he hadn’t imagined the entire thing.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, avoiding his eyes.

Wearily, Minghao slips off his shoes and steps inside. There really is fried rice sitting on the kitchen island. “What’s this?”

“So… I borrowed your shower because I really needed one, and then I felt really, really bad for using your stuff, so I cleaned the whole place and made dinner. I bet you haven’t even opened your fridge, huh?”

“I’m…” Minghao trails off, still staring at the rice.

“You’re… not angry?” Mingyu suggests hopefully. Minghao finally notices he’s wearing a different outfit and wonders, in a delirious sort of way, what other things Mingyu is keeping in that mysterious magic bag of his.

“I can’t think,” Minghao mumbles. He shuffles over to the island and puts his butt on a stool. “I’m too hungry.”

Mingyu takes the seat the across from him and hands him a spoon. “Good. It’s just kimchi fried rice because you literally have nothing else in here. Are you sure you’re human?”

Minghao is too busy stuffing his face to confirm or deny, and doesn’t have the energy to complain when Mingyu grabs himself a spoon and digs in too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i re-wrote this chapter so many times T-T hopefully the logistics of a cpop idol doing work in korea makes sense.... in other news the soundtrack is out!! lots of personal faves ;; ♡
> 
>  _ **soundtrack** on [spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/l16qqdkw6nj2i8tdm9ntnug85?si=ih5nSUFUSLu8c5fSYe6sAg)_ ✨
> 
> @erreversible on [twitter](https://twitter.com/erreversible?lang=en) | [tumblr](https://erreversible.tumblr.com/) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/erreversible)


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